Disappearing Act

There is something very odd about not being to see my own face in a mirror. Vanity aside, I've realized that I used to use my reflection as a barometer of how I was doing, or how I was feeling. These days, I'd probably just see corroboration of the perpetual state of tiredness that comes with a new-ish baby and a naughty toddler. But in the past, I might check that I felt the part before launching into a room full of people at a party, or give myself a pep talk before a big presentation at work.

Steve took a photograph of me recently which I was able to see pretty well, for once. It was a surprise to see myself again and I thought that I looked different somehow. Maybe I do (more wrinkles, more bags under my eyes...) or maybe,  I've just lost that easy familiarity with myself after months of distorted reflections. Regardless, it struck me how unnerving it is to become invisible.

Of course, I  worry about looking silly too. I'm sure I'm not the first mother to walk out of the house with Mickey Mouse stickers stuck to the back of my trousers (thanks, Sophie) but I've heard that there is a tipping point which takes people by surprise. Just like I 'lose' the cursor on my computer screen, I might miss something really obvious.

I remember meeting up with a woman in her seventies who also has Stargardt's. She was impeccably well put together and her house was beautiful too - both of which were immensely comforting to me at the time. She told me about the occasion when she dressed for dinner on the last night of a cruise in the Caribbean. She emerged from her cabin resplendent in all her finery and was greeted with a chuckle. Her husband said it might be a good idea if he 'fixed' her face.

Her solution was to have permanent make-up applied so that there isn't any room for user error. It seems a little drastic, but I can see her point. Who knows, I might end up looking better than ever before. And why stop at make-up... How very Californian!